peppymintdreams

[peppymintdreams]

To whom ever this was from

I thank you dearly

I appreciate this deeply from the heart

Delivery for @peppymintdreams! ✉️: Hope all is well, where ever you may be, I do hope this gets to you and everything is okay. Thank you for all that you’ve done from the The crumpets here on tumblr 🍬

[peppymintdreams]

the way you put dedication into your oc's is so cool and impressive. i love the attention to detail

I told the dolls she was coming and her she is

Iris Leone

Onyx Lilion Asirel’s pet

Onyx Lilion (formerly Iris Leone)

Information Down Below

Birth and Early Life

Name at Birth: Iris Leone

Era: Born in the 1920s November 2nd into a prestigiously wealthy yet abusive family.

Family Dynamics: Iris was the child of an extramarital affair (conceived in a church) and, due to her dark skin in a family of lighter complexion, became a symbol of disgrace. She was hidden away, raised by a distant nanny, and never allowed to meet her siblings or parents. Her only memory of them is a vague recollection of a family portrait.

Upbringing: Subjected to emotional and physical abuse, Iris grew up neglected, unwanted, and emotionally starved.

Key Timeline

1920s: Born into an abusive and affluent family.

1940: Betrayed and turned into a vampire in her twenties.

1940-1944: unconscious almost death like sleep

1944–2020: Wanders alone, enduring wars, social upheavals, and centuries of isolation.

2020: Purchased as a "pet" by Asirel, beginning a new chapter in her life.

Orphan of War

During World War II, Iris became an orphan after her family abandoned her. Thrust into an overcrowded orphanage, she experienced even more rejection and neglect. This phase further deepened her sense of unworthiness and isolation.

The Lover’s Betrayal and Transformation

Deceived by Love: In her young twenties, Iris fell for a seemingly kind lover who betrayed her. This lover was a vampire who sought her wealth and inheritance. He drugged and murdered her, leaving her for dead.

Becoming a Vampire: After her murder, Iris awoke as a vampire. The transformation was excruciating, and she retained no memory of her lover’s face—only the unbearable pain of betrayal. Her newfound existence was one of confusion, agony, and a deep sense of loss.

Life as a Vampire

Loneliness and Isolation: Without guidance, Iris—now Onyx—wandered through the centuries alone. Her trust in humanity and vampires alike was shattered. She became wary, withdrawn, and distrustful, hiding her vulnerability behind a sharp exterior.

A History of Pain: Onyx lived through two world wars, the Civil Rights Movement, the pandemic, and countless societal changes—all as an outsider. The centuries of solitude only amplified her yearning for love and belonging, even as she feared it.

Meeting Asirel

First Encounter: In 2020, Asirel purchased Onyx, offering her a semblance of safety. Initially, she resisted his attempts to connect, viewing his kindness as suspicious.

Comfort in Ivan: Ivan, another companion, became the first person to offer Onyx the affection she had craved for so long. While comforting, this attention overwhelmed her, stirring fears of abandonment when Renee entered the picture.

Personality

Defensive yet Fragile: Onyx projects a sharp and distrustful exterior to shield her deeply fragile heart. Despite this, she craves affection and a sense of belonging.

Trauma Responses: She is profoundly touch- and attention-starved but struggles to accept care, fearing it will be taken away or weaponized against her.

Desire

Onyx’s singular wish is to belong. She longs for a place where she is accepted and valued without fear of rejection, betrayal, or discrimination.

Appearance

Mouth and Teeth:

Her most defining feature is her vampiric jaw, inspired by Mileena’s from Mortal Kombat X. Her torn mouth, lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth, has ripped through her cheeks and lips, giving her a monstrous quality.

Her mandibles extend unnaturally, contrasting the human beauty of her face when her mouth is closed.

Saliva constantly glints on her fangs, especially when she is hungry or enraged

Eyes: Glows faintly in the dark.

Slitted pupils with a thicker, diamond shape.

Right Eye (Blue): Cracked pupil, resembling two triangles rather than a slit.

Left Eye (Orange/Red): Facial Cracks: A faint crack runs across her left eye and spreads across the left side of her face.

Skin: Scars from the night she “died” remain as rotting marks on her body.

Hair: Long and disheveled, with an ethereal, haunting quality.

Missing Arm: Her left arm was amputated due to her vampiric DNA eating away at her human flesh, resulting in a severe infection.

Posture: A slight limp and bow-legged stance, accompanied by occasional twitching.

Expression: Often somber and restrained, her face reflects her pain and inner turmoil.

Other Appearance and Physical Struggles

Arm Decay: During her illness, Onyx’s arm began decaying and eventually fell off. In a desperate act to retain her body, she painstakingly sewed it back on. To hide the damage and keep it together, she wears gloves or tightly wrapped bandages in the form of gloves.

Bandaged Appearance: Her gloves and bandages add to her haunting aesthetic, giving her a mysterious and slightly unsettling aura.

Physical Details

Webbed Ears: Her ears are subtly webbed, hinting at her vampiric transformation and giving her a slightly aquatic, otherworldly appearance.

Veil: During her wandering years, Onyx wore a veil over her mouth to hide the monstrosity beneath. This allowed her to blend in with society, though she was still treated as an outcast due to her eerie presence and hauntingly cracked features.

Onyx Skull:

Additional Traits

Instinctive Behaviors:

Involuntary snarls, even in calm moments.

Deep growls when hungry, signaling her primal thirst.

Excessive drooling due to her monstrous mouth.

Sleep: Though she does not require sleep, Onyx loves it. It offers her a rare sense of peace. She is eerily quiet, often mistaken for a corpse while resting.

Music: Classical music relaxes her.

Mirrors: Onyx avoids her reflection, seeing only a monster staring back.

Emotional Notes

If Onyx Met Her Younger Self: She would hold the child tightly and weep, knowing the innocence and happiness that would soon be stolen.

Self-Perception: Onyx views herself as a monster, struggling to reconcile her monstrous exterior with the remnants of humanity she clings to.

Additional Details About Onyx Lilion

Personality and Desires

Squeaky Ducks: Despite her dark and tragic existence, Onyx has an innocent love for squeaky ducks. The sound brings her a rare, fleeting sense of comfort and joy, serving as a small escape from the weight of her pain.

True Happiness: Above all, Onyx longs to feel true happiness—the kind that is pure, untainted, and without fear of it being taken away. This yearning is a deep, driving force within her, even if she doubts its possibility.

Questioning God: Onyx often questions the divine, asking why she was left alive in this monstrous form and what purpose her existence serves. Her prayers are a mix of anger, sorrow, and desperation, often left unanswered, further fueling her self-doubt.

Loves Fluffy Pillows: Onyx finds immense comfort in soft textures. She hoards fluffy pillows and often surrounds herself with them while she rests.

Stuffed Animal Collection: She owns a large collection of stuffed animals, secretly treasuring them as a source of comfort. They remind her of an innocence she never got to fully experience.

Asirel’s Role: Occasionally, she asks Asirel for more stuffed animals, though she tries to play it off casually. Deep down, it’s one of the few times she openly expresses her wants

Encounter During the War

During her aimless wandering through the chaos of World War II, Onyx encountered a child who was alone, scared, and parentless. The sight of the child reminded her of herself—lost, abandoned, and afraid.

Her Approach: Onyx hesitated, knowing her appearance might frighten the child. Strangely, the child wasn’t afraid of her face or veil. They were more nervous about her unusual, towering demeanor and the sorrow that clung to her like a shadow.

Her Intentions: Onyx felt an overwhelming need to protect and care for the child. It wasn’t a matter of hunger or pity—it was a raw, maternal instinct that awakened within her. For the first time in centuries, she felt a purpose, however fleeting.

The Child’s Acceptance: Over time, the child warmed up to Onyx, holding her hand tightly as they journeyed together. For a brief moment, Onyx felt the joy of being needed and loved. But as all things in her life, this too was temporary—circumstances beyond her control tore them apart, leaving her with another scar on her already broken heart.

Emotional Complexity

Motherly Instincts: Onyx’s experience with the child left her questioning her ability to truly care for someone else. She carries the memory of the child as a bittersweet reminder of her potential to love and her constant fear of loss.

Self-Perception: Her monstrous form and tragic life lead her to believe she is unworthy of love or happiness, yet moments like her bond with the child reveal glimpses of the person she could be.

Symbols of Humanity

Onyx’s love for squeaky ducks, her maternal instincts, and her yearning for true happiness are small, yet powerful, reminders of the humanity that still resides within her—buried beneath centuries of pain and rejection. They offer a glimpse of hope in her otherwise dark existence, leaving her clinging to the belief that perhaps, one day, she might find belonging and joy.

Possessions and Preferences

Music Box: Onyx cherishes a delicate music box that plays a haunting melody. It was given to her during a fleeting moment of happiness in her otherwise dark life. She keeps it as a symbol of hope and a reminder of better days.

Favorite Flowers: Poppies hold a special place in her heart, symbolizing both death and remembrance. Their fragile beauty resonates deeply with her own sense of fleeting existence.

Favorite Foods: Despite the challenges posed by her condition, Onyx adores soup, often savoring it even though eating it can be difficult. She also has a strong love for wild berries and peaches, which bring her a sense of nostalgia for her mortal life. Her favorite dessert is strawberry sponge cake, which she associates with comfort and warmth.

Diet and Struggles

Cannibalistic Past: Due to desperation and the darker aspects of her vampiric nature, Onyx has eaten a few people in the past, something that deeply shames her. She sees it as a loss of control, further distancing herself from her humanity.

Garbage Scavenging: Occasionally, she finds herself eating scraps or garbage in moments of disconnection, a habit born from years of survival and self-loathing.

Allergies: Onyx is allergic to honey, and even the faintest hint of it causes an intense reaction. She avoids it completely, further limiting her ability to enjoy certain foods.

Romantic Past

French Lover: Onyx once dated a woman from France during her wandering years. This relationship brought Onyx immense joy and comfort, as her partner loved her unconditionally despite her monstrous appearance.

Loss: Tragically, her lover was killed, leaving Onyx heartbroken and more guarded than ever. The time they spent together, however, left Onyx with the ability to speak French fluently, as her lover taught her the language with patience and care.

Onyx suffers from amnesia, further complicating her already fractured sense of self.

Memory Gaps: Her condition prevents her from recalling large parts of her past, including crucial details about her mortal life and the events that led to her transformation.

Fragmented Memories: She occasionally experiences fleeting memories, like flashes of faces or emotions, but they are often unclear and disjointed. This leaves her in a constant state of uncertainty about who she truly is or was.

Music Box Connection: The music box she cherishes is one of the few things she feels an inexplicable emotional bond with. However, she doesn’t remember where it came from or who gave it to her

Onyx Lilion: A Child Trapped in an Adult’s Body

Onyx’s development was severely stunted by trauma, betrayal, and isolation. Though she has lived for decades, emotionally and mentally, she had her childhood stolen from her and is like a child forced into an adult’s existence.

Emotional State & Mindset:

Stunted Growth: Due to a lack of love, care, and guidance, Onyx never fully developed the emotional maturity of an adult.

Naïve Longings: She yearns for simple comforts like warmth, affection, and safety—things she never had growing up.

Fragile Sense of Self: Her amnesia and trauma make it difficult for her to truly understand who she is. She is constantly searching for meaning and belonging.

Behavioral Traits:

Childlike Curiosity: Despite her cold demeanor, she has an innocent fascination with small joys—like squeaky ducks, fluffy pillows, and stuffed animals.

Difficulty Regulating Emotions: When overwhelmed, she either lashes out violently or shuts down completely, much like a child having a meltdown.

Insecurity & Fear of Abandonment: She clings to those who show her kindness but also pushes them away, afraid of being hurt again.

Why It Matters:

Onyx’s existence is a constant contradiction—she has the body and lifespan of an immortal, but inside, she is a lonely, wounded child, desperately trying to understand why she is still alive and if she will ever truly be loved.

Onyx deeply connects with the story of Anastasia, both the historical tragedy and the animated film. Having existed during that time, she feels an unspoken kinship with the lost princess—a soul torn from her rightful place, forgotten, and left to wander in search of something she can’t quite remember.

Her Connection to Anastasia:

Lost Identity: Just like Anastasia, Onyx suffers from amnesia, leaving her constantly questioning who she was before she became this monster.

A Sense of Displacement: She moves through life as if she doesn’t truly belong, much like Anastasia being separated from her family and past.

A Flicker of Humanity: There are moments when she can almost feel something inside her—a real person, a soul that still lingers—but her vampiric instincts always pull her back into the abyss.

The Conflict Within:

Iris is not entirely gone, but the remnants of who she was are trapped beneath layers of trauma, hunger, and the cruelty of immortality. She sometimes wonders if she is just a monster wearing the mask of a person—or if there is still something human left inside her, desperately trying to claw its way back.

Onyx collects mirror shards, not to gaze into them, but to attach them to her clothing and body. She avoids her own reflection at all costs, unable to bear the sight of the monster she believes she has become.

Why She Collects Mirror Shards:

A Way to See Without Looking: By placing small fragments of mirrors on herself, she allows others to see their reflections instead of her own. It’s a way of hiding in plain sight, ensuring that the world reflects back at others rather than forcing her to confront herself.

A Defense Mechanism: If someone gets too close, they may see themselves in her shards rather than noticing the unsettling details of her own face. This makes her presence both eerie and strangely mesmerizing—people don’t focus on her; they focus on themselves.

Symbolism of Broken Identity: Much like her mind and body, the mirrors are fractured, scattered pieces of something that was once whole. They serve as a reminder that she, too, was once someone else—someone she cannot remember or reclaim.

Onyx may never dare to look into a full mirror, but in the reflections of those around her, she sees glimpses of what she longs for: a place to belong, a sense of self, and perhaps, the humanity she fears is lost forever.

Iris/Onyx Soundtrack (warning headphone users)

[peppymintdreams]

I want to be realistic and vulnerable with you all for a moment…

Lately, I’ve been feeling like my time as a fanfic writer has come to an end. I feel like I’ve done my part for the Crumpets, but somewhere along the way, my work seems to have lost its spark. It feels like I’ve lost the talent and passion I once had.

I’ve started to feel like my writing isn’t enough anymore, and I’ve been relying on requests just to find the motivation to write. I have several works in progress that remain unfinished or were scrapped entirely.

Stories like Unlimited, which was supposed to be posted months ago, Toxic Criminal prequel, and IV. Even SRTOF, which I should have returned to, has just been sitting there because I haven’t had the interest to complete it.

The break I took was amazing—it gave me some much-needed clarity. But I miss the quality and slight joy I used to feel in my work before the break. Now, my writing feels short, uninspired, and boring to me.

Maybe this is just life catching up with me, or maybe it’s something else entirely. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m questioning whether it’s time for me to step away for good.

I have noticed that my writing may not be resonating as strongly as it used to, leading to a diminished engagement from readers. The lively connection I once cultivated seems to have waned, resulting in my words feeling less dynamic and attractive.

Lately, I've been feeling a bit overshadowed by the impressive writings I've come across. It seems like so many others have a way with words that makes their pieces resonate more deeply than mine. Reflecting on my own previous work, it strikes me how much longer and more detailed it used to be, and I can’t help but feel a sense of longing for that level of depth and creativity.

Let me know your feelings

-Mama Peppy

[peppymintdreams]

Hallucinating Under the Stars

Elias x Barista

[Tw Mentions of Substance Abuse]

The nightmare came again.

The same one. Every night. A never-ending cycle of screams and chaos that never seemed to end. Elias found himself back in Fresno, the heat oppressive, the air thick with smoke. He could hear his mother's voice, calm at first, but turning to panic as she tried to reach him. His legs felt heavy as he ran toward her, but with each step, the distance between them grew.

He was too late. He couldn’t reach her. The explosion came, a searing wave of heat that ripped through the building. And when the dust settled, she was gone.

No matter how many times he replayed it, no matter how hard he tried to reach out, the outcome was always the same.

I couldn’t save her.

Elias shot up from the bed, gasping for air, his heart hammering in his chest. Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his body shook with the remnants of the nightmare. His chest felt tight, suffocating, like he couldn’t breathe.

He had tried. He had fought through the flames and debris, screamed for her to stay with him, but she was already gone. He hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been good enough.

She’s gone because of me.

His mind screamed the same accusation as it always did. He needed air. He needed to clear his head, to escape the suffocating guilt that threatened to drown him. He grabbed a jacket, the cigarette pack, and the small pill bottle on the nightstand. He moved without thinking, his footsteps heavy and mind racing.

The door creaked open, and the cold night air hit him like a slap. He didn’t care. He needed to drown out the thoughts. The noise.

Elias laid under the darkened sky, his cigarette already burning between his fingers, his mind racing. He took a deep drag, the smoke filling his lungs. He closed his eyes and let the sharp sting of nicotine cut through the fog in his head. It didn’t help, but it was the only thing that ever came close.

He fumbled with the pill bottle, shaking out two pills, swallowing them dry. The bitterness burned down his throat, but it did nothing to numb the ache in his chest. The stars above him glittered, indifferent. They had no answers. They weren’t real.

But then, a voice.

“Elias.”

His heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice.

No, this isn’t real.

He turned, and there she was. Tara. His mother. She stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze sharp. Her presence was more than a mere figment of his imagination—her energy filled the air, like an electric charge. He could feel it. He could smell the faint trace of her perfume, just as he remembered it, as if she was standing there, alive.

“You’re not real,” Elias whispered, shaking his head, backing away from her. “You can’t be real.”

But she just stood there, staring at him with that unwavering gaze. “Doesn’t matter if I’m real, Elias. You can still hear me, can’t you?”

He felt his chest tighten, the guilt surging like an electric shock through his veins. “You—You shouldn’t be here.” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t... I failed you.”

Tara’s eyes softened, but only for a moment. “You didn’t fail me.” Her voice was low, firm, and she took a step closer. “You did everything you could. But you torture yourself over something that wasn’t your fault.”

Elias flinched, a sob rising in his throat. “I should’ve been faster. I should’ve—”

“No.” Tara’s voice was firm, cutting through the self-loathing that was drowning him. “No more lies. You did everything you could. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault, Elias.”

Tears welled in his eyes, and he couldn’t stop them from falling. The guilt crushed him in waves.

“You died because of me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t get to you. I couldn’t save you in time.”

Her face hardened, disappointment flickering in her eyes. “No, Elias. You didn’t fail me. You never failed me.”

But the words didn’t stick. He could feel her disappointment—he had failed. He couldn’t save her.

“I don’t know how to live with this,” he choked out, his voice raw. “Every day, I wake up, and it’s like you’re still gone, and I’m still... trapped. I don’t know how to stop the pain. I don’t know how to get rid of it.”

Tara’s expression softened, but her words were sharp. “You’re running away, Elias. Hiding in your pills and cigarettes. You think they’ll fix you? You think they’ll erase what happened? You think they’ll stop the nightmares?”

He didn’t answer, staring at the ground, the cigarette trembling in his hand.

“Stop running.” Her voice was gentle, but there was an edge to it. “You need to face it, Elias. You need to face it. And you need to let your father help.”

At the mention of his father, something inside Elias snapped. He raised his head, his anger flaring. “Warden?” he spat, his voice thick with bitterness. “You want me to go to him? After everything he did? After he couldn’t even—”

“Elias,” Tara interrupted, her voice stern. “You’re not a child anymore. You can’t keep blaming him. Yes, he’s a mess, and yes, he screwed up, but he’s still your father.”

“I don’t need him,” Elias hissed. “I don’t want him. I’ve spent my whole life watching him fall apart, watching him pretend like nothing ever happened, and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep pretending that we’re fine when we’re not!”

Tara’s gaze softened, and she stepped closer, her hand reaching out, but she didn’t touch him. “I know, Elias. But you can’t do this alone. You’re not as broken as you think. And he—” She paused, her voice faltering. “He needs you too.”

Elias felt the weight of her words, but his chest ached with the weight of everything she was asking him to do.

But the more he thought about it, the more he felt like the weight was too much. The guilt. The pain. The loneliness.

Tara’s voice became quieter. “I’m just a memory, Elias. I’m just a hallucination. But you’re still here. You still have time. Don’t waste it.”

Her words were like a last plea, a soft echo as she began to fade, her form becoming translucent.

Elias laid there, his heart breaking, his tears falling freely as she disappeared into the cold night air.

And then, he was alone again, under the indifferent stars.

Tears still stung his eyes as he crumpled to the ground, his body shaking. The weight of her words, the weight of everything he had failed to fix, pressed down on him. His breath was shallow, and his hands trembled, but there was no relief.

He was alone with his guilt. Alone with his pain. And not the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t know how to keep going.

The stars above him offered no comfort. The night stretched on, indifferent to his suffering, as Elias sat there, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

[peppymintdreams]

Very nice art work

Felt bored and the sketch of them i drew a few months ago was just lying around so why not I joined the pet train

I’ve named my child

Onyx Lilion

Might drop the character lore but whatever

Here they are Onyx

Art work still in progression

[peppymintdreams]

Writing this down

NAW cos Elias is 1000% the type to push down on your chin with his thumb while making out to open your mouth wider for his tongue…

YALL DIDNT HEAR IT FROM ME 🫡

[peppymintdreams]

You Can’t Bring Me Down: Prelude

Elias x Barista (Barista’s POV)

[TW: Mentions of Self Harm]

Elias hadn’t been himself in weeks. Maybe months.

Barista first noticed it in the little things. His voice, once steady and confident, was now laced with frustration at the smallest inconvenience. He forgot to laugh at their jokes—something he always did, even if they weren’t funny. And the bags under his eyes grew darker every day, proof of the nightmares he refused to talk about.

“It’s just stress,” Elias had said one night when they pressed him about it. “The house arrest, the inactivity—it’s messing with me. But I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine.

Barista could see it in the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was watching, how he snapped at small things like burnt toast or a misplaced mug. His solar system tattoo, once his favorite topic, went unmentioned. Even the stars—the thing he loved most—seemed to have lost their light in his eyes.

Barista wanted to help him, to shoulder some of the burden, but every time they tried, Elias would shut them out.

The kitchen was quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of Elias’s fingers on his phone. He was glued to it lately, scrolling endlessly or typing furiously. Barista set a plate of breakfast on the table in front of him.

“You’ve been up all night again,” they said softly, sliding into the seat across from him.

“I had things to do.” He didn’t look up.

“Elias, What could you possibly have to do at 3 AM?”

He finally glanced at them, his expression sharp. “I don’t need a lecture, alright? I’m fine.”

Barista sighed, trying to keep their voice calm. “I’m not lecturing you. I’m worried about you.”

“I said I’m fine.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Barista swallowed the urge to push further, knowing it would only lead to another fight.

The fights started small—an occasional argument over chores or schedules. But as Elias grew more irritable, the arguments escalated.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Elias had snapped one evening when Barista suggested they take a break from his constant planning. “To sit here, useless, while the world moves on without you.”

“You’re not useless, Elias! You’re doing everything you can to stay prepared—”

“Prepared for what? Another disaster I can’t stop? Another failure?” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “You wouldn’t get it. You’ve never been in my position.”

Barista flinched, the words hitting harder than they should have. “I’m just trying to help you,” they said quietly.

“Well, maybe I don’t need your help,” he muttered, walking away before they could respond.

Barista spent most nights crying in the bathroom, muffling their sobs so Elias wouldn’t hear. They hated how powerless they felt. The person they loved was falling apart, and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t reach him.

The worst part was the guilt.

Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe I’m making things worse.

Those thoughts crept in during the quiet moments, twisting like a knife in their chest. They started to believe them, especially after Elias’s words grew harsher.

“You’re smothering me,” he had said during one particularly heated fight. “I can’t breathe with you always hovering over me.”

Barista hadn’t responded. They couldn’t. They had locked themselves in the bedroom, letting his words replay in their mind until they felt like they were suffocating.

The risky behavior started after that.

At first, it was small—skipping meals, ignoring their own needs because they didn’t feel like they deserved care. But the pain inside them grew heavier, and they didn’t know how to release it.

One night, while Elias was buried in his phone, Barista sat on the bathroom floor with a blade in their hand. It was sharp, cold, and terrifyingly tempting.

The first cut was shallow, a test. It stung, but the sting felt almost… comforting. It was a physical pain to match the emotional one, something they could control.

They told themselves it was just this once…

Barista sat on the edge of their bed, staring blankly at the flickering candle on the desk. The safe house was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall. The heaviness in their chest refused to lift, no matter how many deep breaths they took or how many times they told themselves that things would get better.

The memory of Elias's harsh words from earlier replayed in their mind like a broken record. His tone, his expression—so cold, so detached. It was as though they were talking to a stranger, not the man they’d been through hell and back with. And yet, they couldn’t entirely blame him. He was suffering, carrying the weight of his own demons, but it didn’t make the sting hurt any less.

The candle’s flame flickered, almost mocking their resolve.

Just this once, they thought, gripping their wrist. The sharp edge of the blade rested against their skin, cold and unfeeling. It felt like control—something they’d lacked for weeks. Their breaths quickened as the blade trembled in their hand.

This isn’t the answer, a small voice in the back of their mind pleaded.

But the heaviness, the suffocating weight, felt impossible to endure. And Elias’s absence—both physical and emotional—made it worse. The person they relied on, the one who usually made them feel whole, was too far gone to notice how broken they’d become.

They closed their eyes and pressed down, but a noise outside their door startled them. They froze, their heartbeat echoing in their ears as the sound faded away. The blade clattered to the floor, and they pressed their hands to their face, tears spilling uncontrollably.

I can’t keep doing this...

Elias didn’t notice at first. He was too wrapped up in his own pain to see theirs.

Barista wore long sleeves and plastered on a smile, pretending everything was fine. They didn’t want to burden him further. But the more they tried to hide it, the more they felt like they were drowning.

One evening, as they cleaned the kitchen, Elias walked in, leaning against the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot, his posture tense.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than it had been in weeks.

Barista turned, surprised. “Hey.”

“I know I’ve been... difficult lately.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t know how to handle everything. And I feel like I’m dragging you down with me.”

“You’re not dragging me down,” they said quickly. “I want to help you, Elias. But you have to let me in.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. It’s not fair to you. You deserve better than this mess I’ve become.”

Tears welled in Barista’s eyes. “I don’t care about fair, Elias. I care about you. I love you.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

The words shattered something inside them. They didn’t say anything, just nodded and left the room, tears streaming down their face.

That night, the bathroom door stayed locked longer than usual.

When they finally emerged, Elias was asleep on the couch, his phone still clutched in his hand. Barista stood there for a moment, staring at him, before retreating to the bedroom.

They curled up under the blankets, their heart heavy with the knowledge that they were losing him, piece by piece

His words cut deep, slicing through skin and piercing their heart, leaving wounds no one can see. But there is something else—something sharper, something colder—that could break them just the same:

The Edge of a Blade…

[peppymintdreams]

A Fragile Thread

Andrew Marston x Darling

Andrew sat alone at his desk, the dim glow of his desk lamp casting sharp shadows on the walls of his otherwise empty apartment. Papers and open books lay untouched in front of him, forgotten as the deafening silence consumed the space. The clock ticked with an almost mocking regularity, each second dragging on longer than the last.

It had been three hours since you walked out. Three hours of agonizing silence that made every corner of the room feel hollow. Andrew had replayed the argument a dozen times in his mind, searching for the exact moment when it had spiraled out of control.

It had started with something so small. You’d forgotten your keys again—a tiny mistake, one you were known for, one he’d never minded until today. Andrew had scolded you, his tone sharper than he intended. You had fired back, frustration spilling over in a way that caught him off guard. The argument snowballed, words growing harsher, sharper, until you finally said the one thing he couldn’t erase from his mind:

"Maybe it’s easier if I’m not here."

He hadn’t meant for it to go that far. He hadn’t thought you’d actually leave. But when the door slammed behind you, the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The apartment felt colder, emptier. He had tried to convince himself you just needed time to cool off, but as the hours dragged on, his resolve cracked.

Where were you? Were you safe? Were you angry—or worse, hurt?

Andrew clenched his fists and grabbed his coat. He couldn’t stay here, not when every passing minute made the knot in his chest tighten. He had to find you.

The night was bitterly cold, frost glinting like tiny shards of glass under the streetlights. Andrew wandered through the quiet streets, his mind racing. He checked your usual spots—the coffee shop you loved, the bookstore where you spent hours browsing—but each was dark and empty.

He was beginning to panic when he spotted you in the park. You were sitting on a bench, bundled in your coat, your face tilted up to the sky. From a distance, you looked calm, but as Andrew approached, he noticed the subtle way your shoulders hunched, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You didn’t look at him. “Why does it matter to you?”

The bitterness in your tone cut deep, but Andrew swallowed the hurt. “Because it’s freezing, and you didn’t even bring gloves,” he said, gesturing to your trembling hands.

Finally, you turned to him, your eyes glinting with unshed tears. “I’m fine. You can go back to your perfect apartment and your perfect life, Andrew. I don’t need you to check on me.”

Andrew froze, stunned by the venom in your words. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You act like I’m a burden,” you said, your voice shaking. “Like I’m just some messy, forgetful person who’s always screwing things up. I know I’m not perfect, but you don’t have to rub it in all the time.”

Andrew felt his chest tighten as your words hit him like a physical blow. “That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve never thought of you as a burden.”

“You sure about that?” you shot back, your eyes narrowing. “Because it sure feels like it when you’re constantly pointing out every little thing I do wrong.”

Andrew’s composure cracked, his usual calm replaced by raw desperation. “I don’t think you’re a burden,” he said, his voice breaking. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I hate myself for making you feel like you’re not.”

You blinked, startled by the emotion in his voice.

“I’m not perfect,” Andrew continued, his hands trembling at his sides. “I’m flawed, and I make mistakes, and sometimes I get so caught up in trying to keep everything together that I forget what really matters.” He took a shaky breath, his eyes locking with yours. “But you matter. More than anything.”

You looked away, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I just… I feel like I’m always disappointing you.”

Andrew’s heart broke at your words. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands reaching out to cup your face. “You could never disappoint me,” he said firmly. “You’re human. You’re going to forget your keys, or spill coffee, or leave the toothpaste cap off. And I’m going to do dumb things, too, like snap at you when I’m stressed. But that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Your lip quivered as you looked down at him. “I don’t know how to believe that right now.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” Andrew said, his voice trembling. “Let me show you every day how much you mean to me. But please, don’t shut me out. Don’t walk away. I can’t—” His voice broke, and he looked down, unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t lose you.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The cold wind whipped around you, but Andrew didn’t move. Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Andrew let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours. “No. I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the world around you fading away.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Can we go home?”

Andrew nodded, standing and pulling you into his arms. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Let’s go home.”

[peppymintdreams]

You Can’t Bring me Down

Elias x Barista

[TW: Mentions of Self Harm]

Elias feels deeply vulnerable and emotionally distressed but hides his weakness. Under house arrest and plagued by nightmares, he believes the barista is constantly scrutinizing him, worsening his turmoil. This emotional complexity causes Elias to misplace his frustration onto barista, leading to increasingly risky behavior.

The safe house was eerily quiet. Elias sat on the couch, head tilted back against the cushions, eyes half-closed but far from peaceful.

Shadows clung to the corners of the room, and the flickering light of the TV cast fleeting patterns on his face.

He wasn’t paying attention to whatever show was on. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in frustration, shame, and the suffocating feeling of being trapped.

House arrest. The very term made his stomach churn. Elias wasn't one to be caged, yet here he was, day after day, unable to leave, unable to breathe. It was driving him insane.

He hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Nightmares came in waves—faces he couldn’t save, people he couldn’t protect. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. And when he woke up, all he felt was the gnawing guilt and the hollow reminder that he couldn’t change a damn thing.

Barista walked into the room, holding two mugs of tea. “I thought you might need this,” they said softly, setting one on the table in front of him.

Elias barely glanced at them. “I don’t need tea.”

Barista ignored the sharpness in his tone and sat beside him. “You haven’t eaten all day. And you barely slept last night. I’m worried about you.”

His jaw tightened. He hated when they said that. Worry meant pity, and he didn’t need pity. He didn’t need anyone pointing out how broken he felt.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice low and clipped.

Barista frowned. “Elias, you’re not fine. You’re pushing yourself too hard, and it’s not healthy. Maybe if you talked to me about what’s bothering you—”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Elias snapped, finally turning to face them. His eyes burned with a mix of anger and exhaustion. “Why do you always have to push? Why can’t you just let me deal with things my way?”

Barista flinched but didn’t back down. “Because your way isn’t working. Look at yourself, Elias. You’re barely holding it together. I just want to help.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want your help!” he shouted, standing abruptly. The sudden movement made the tea on the table wobble, spilling over the edge. “I don’t need you hovering over me, telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. Just... back off!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Barista stared at him, hurt flashing across their face. “Is that really how you feel?”

Elias hesitated, his anger faltering for a moment. But the storm inside him wouldn’t let him stop. “Yeah. That’s how I feel. You’re suffocating me.”

Barista’s shoulders slumped, their expression crumbling into something raw and painful. “Fine,” they whispered, their voice barely audible. “If that’s what you want.”

They turned and walked away, leaving Elias alone in the living room.

Barista shut the bathroom door behind them, their hands trembling. Elias’s words echoed in their mind, cutting deeper than they thought possible. They leaned against the sink, staring at their reflection in the mirror.

Suffocating him. I’m suffocating him.

The weight of it all pressed down on them like a crushing tide. They didn’t even realize they were crying until they saw the tear tracks on their cheeks.

The thoughts started small at first. Maybe I’m too much. Maybe I’m the problem.

But they spiraled quickly, the hurt morphing into something darker. Barista sank to the floor, their knees pulling to their chest as the cold tile pressed against their skin. The idea of release, of finding some way to silence the pain, crept into their mind like an unwelcome guest.

They reached for the small emergency kit under the sink. Their hands shook as they opened it, staring at the sterile blade tucked inside. It was meant for practical use, but right now, all they could think about was the numbness it could bring.

Elias paced the living room, his earlier anger replaced by a gnawing guilt. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. He hadn’t meant to snap like that, hadn’t meant to push Barista away.

He looked toward the hallway, where their bedroom door was ajar. But the light wasn’t on. Something felt off.

“Barista?” he called out, but there was no response.

Panic set in as he checked the kitchen, the bedrooms, and finally the bathroom. The door was locked.

“Barista?” He knocked, his voice shaking. “Are you in there? Open the door.”

Still no answer.

His heart pounded as he jiggled the handle. “I’m serious. Open the door!” When there was still no response, he didn’t hesitate—he kicked it open.

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. Barista was on the floor, tears streaming down their face, the blade trembling in their hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Elias’s voice was sharp, panic laced in every word as he dropped to his knees beside them.

Barista froze, the blade slipping from their fingers. “I—I wasn’t going to...” Their voice broke, and they buried their face in their hands.

Elias grabbed the blade, tossing it across the room, before pulling them into his arms. “Don’t,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t you ever do that. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

Barista sobbed into his chest, their body shaking. “I just... I didn’t know what else to do. You hate me, Elias. I’m trying so hard, and it’s never enough.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said quickly, holding them tighter. “God, I don’t hate you. I’m just... I’m so screwed up, Barista. And I took it out on you. I didn’t mean what I said.”

They pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Then why do you keep shutting me out? Why do you keep hurting me?”

Elias swallowed hard, guilt twisting like a knife in his chest. “Because I don’t know how to handle this. I feel like I’m drowning, and I can’t pull myself out. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you. I do. More than I know how to say.”

Barista stared at him for a long moment before leaning into his chest again. “I don’t want to lose you, Elias. But I can’t keep doing this if you won’t let me in.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know. I’ll do better. I swear.”

[peppymintdreams]

Heyyyy, could you write about Darling calling Andrew 'dude/bro' just to annoy him 🙃 and him being ???? Just 'crack,' no angst, maybe also with Xanthus? thaaaaaks

Sure I can

Dude

Andrew Marston x Darling

The faint click of keys echoed through the apartment as Andrew sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose, brow furrowed in concentration. He was in his element, grading papers with the kind of precision and focus that made him seem untouchable. Or so he thought.

Darling leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him with a mischievous glint in their eyes. Andrew hadn’t noticed them yet, too absorbed in deciphering a particularly illegible sentence.

“Hey, dude,” they called out casually.

Andrew froze mid-sentence, the pen in his hand hovering over the paper. Slowly, he turned his head, blue eyes narrowing slightly. “What did you just call me?”

“Dude,” Darling repeated, biting back a grin. “You know, like… bro.”

Andrew blinked, utterly baffled. “Bro?” he echoed, the word sounding foreign and absurd coming from his lips. “I’m sorry, did you just call me bro?”

“Yeah, dude,” they said, leaning casually against the desk now. “What’s the problem, bro?”

Andrew set his pen down with exaggerated precision and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were dealing with an unruly student. “Darling, I’m your partner, not your… ‘dude’ or your ‘bro.’”

“You sure about that, dude?”

Andrew’s jaw dropped slightly, his usual calm demeanor cracking. “Yes, I’m sure!”

Darling laughed, circling around him to sit on the edge of the desk. “Come on, Andrew. Loosen up. It’s just a word. Besides, isn’t that what all the cool kids are saying these days?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. “I’m not trying to be a ‘cool kid,’ and I certainly don’t want to be referred to as a… ‘bro.’”

“You are far from a kid But what if I’m just trying to connect with you on a deeper, more chill level, bro?”

Andrew groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a smile. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” they admitted, their grin widening.

He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping despite himself. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he corrected, though his eyes softened as he reached out to pull them closer. “But if you ever call me ‘dude’ in public, I might actually combust.”

Darling leaned in, their face inches from his, and whispered, “Noted, bro.”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh before grabbing their waist and pulling them into his lap, effectively ending their little game. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, his tone affectionate now.

They laughed, wrapping their arms around his neck. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Andrew’s smirk returned as he pressed a quick kiss to their temple. “Debatable.”

But as he held them close, their laughter ringing in his ears, it was clear to both of them that there was nowhere else he’d rather be—dude or not

🍬

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or incorrect quotes or head canons and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[peppymintdreams]

Love is always busy drawing no matter what and xanthus tries to get their attention but it doesn’t work. Thank you !

Lost in Lines

Xanthus Claiborne x Love

The scratch of pencil against paper filled the room as you hunched over your sketchpad, completely engrossed. You barely noticed the way the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains or the soft footsteps as Xanthus approached.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, crimson eyes locked on you. A faint smirk played on his lips as he watched the slight furrow in your brow, the way you absentmindedly pushed your hair out of your face, entirely oblivious to his presence.

"Hard at work again, I see," he murmured, his voice smooth and teasing.

You hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up. The pencil continued its fluid motions as you sketched with intense focus.

Xanthus stepped closer, circling behind you. "You’ve been at this for hours, darling. Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious about what I’m doing?"

You waved a dismissive hand at him. “Mhm, sure.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from him, and his smirk widened. He leaned over, his breath ghosting against your ear as he said, “I could set this entire room on fire, and you’d probably just ask me to move the flames out of your light.”

"Not funny," you muttered, though the corner of your mouth twitched slightly.

He wasn’t deterred. With practiced ease, he slipped his hand under your chin and tilted your face toward him. “There you are,” he said softly, crimson eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Xanthus,” you whined, trying to turn your attention back to the sketchpad, but his fingers gently held your gaze.

“What are you drawing that’s so important, hmm?” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Is it me? You can admit it—I make a perfect muse.”

You laughed despite yourself, swatting at his arm. “No, it’s not you.”

“Oh? I’m wounded,” he teased, pulling back just enough to feign offense. “All this time I’ve spent being devilishly handsome, and you’re sketching something else?”

“Xanthus…” you sighed, trying to focus again.

He stepped around to face you, crouching down to your eye level. “You know,” he said, voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always made your heart skip, “I could make this very difficult for you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

A wicked grin spread across his face as he plucked the pencil from your hand.

“Hey!”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. Were you using this?” He held it just out of your reach, delighting in your frustrated glare.

“Xanthus, give it back.”

“Not until you pay attention to me,” he said, leaning in closer. “You’ve been ignoring me for hours, and I’m starting to feel neglected.”

You sighed, though the hint of a smile betrayed your exasperation. “What do you want, then?”

He leaned even closer, his voice a teasing whisper. “Just a kiss. Then you can have your precious pencil back.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me anyway,” he quipped, holding the pencil aloft like a prize.

Relenting, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. He smiled, victorious, and handed the pencil back with a flourish.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face before standing.

“Now, back to your drawing,” he added, winking as he walked away, “but don’t forget who deserves to be your next masterpiece.”

[peppymintdreams]

Sock Time Out

Luca Pearce x Mc ft Mocha

The sound of something crashing in the other room made you and Luca freeze. Both of you turned your heads toward the source of the noise—Mocha.

“Mocha!” you called out, exasperated.

The small kitten bolted into the living room with an impressive burst of speed, carrying a sock in her mouth like a trophy. She skidded to a halt in front of you, dropped the sock at your feet, and looked up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

“What did she do now?” Luca asked from the kitchen, peeking over the counter.

“She knocked over a cup again,” you replied, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That’s the third time this week.”

Mocha meowed defiantly, as if daring you to argue with her.

“That’s it,” you said, standing up and grabbing a clean sock from the laundry basket.

“What are you doing?” Luca asked, amused as he walked into the room with a cup of tea.

“She’s going into sock jail.”

Luca blinked, holding back a laugh. “Sock time out?”

You nodded, carefully picking up Mocha, who squirmed in your grasp. “She’s been causing chaos all morning. Consequences.”

You gently slid the sock over Mocha’s tiny body like a makeshift onesie, leaving her head and front paws free. She froze the moment the sock was on, as if the fabric had magically immobilized her.

“See? Effective,” you said, setting her down on the couch.

Mocha stared at you, her eyes full of betrayal. She tried to wiggle, but the sock clung tightly enough to her that she eventually gave up and flopped over dramatically.

Luca, now leaning against the wall, burst out laughing. “You’re so mean to her,” he said, though his smile betrayed that he was entirely entertained.

“She’ll learn,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Maybe next time she won’t knock things over.”

Mocha let out the most pitiful, dramatic meow, looking directly at Luca for backup.

“Oh, don’t look at me,” he said, smirking. “I’m not getting involved. You brought this on yourself, Mocha.”

You sat back down beside her, reaching out to scratch her head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you little menace.”

Mocha let out a small, resigned sigh, curling into a sulky ball. The sock may have been her prison, but her spirit remained unbroken.

Luca slid onto the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “You know she’s going to get revenge later, right?”

“Let her try,” you replied with a grin, already bracing for Mocha’s next act of defiance.

[peppymintdreams]

Baa-nished to Chaos

Oh no Mc is a sheep again but instead of helping them mammon has a better idea

The sound of frantic hooves on hardwood echoed through the House of Lamentation. Lucifer’s already furrowed brow deepened as Mammon burst into his study, clutching something fluffy and bleating.

“I found ‘em, Lucifer!” Mammon exclaimed, holding up a small, pinkish purple sheep with wide, panicked eyes. The sheep flailed in Mammon’s arms. “It’s MC! Solomon did somethin’ again!”

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience evaporating. “Mammon, why are you holding a sheep in my study?”

“I just said! It’s MC!”

The sheep bleated loudly, wriggling to escape Mammon’s grip. Lucifer leaned back in his chair, staring at the animal. “Explain.”

Mammon shifted awkwardly. “Okay, so Solomon was messin’ with one of his weird potions in the kitchen. MC was just standin’ there, watchin’, and BAM! Puff o’ smoke, poof, they’re a strangely colorful sheep now!”

Lucifer sighed heavily. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Hey, I ain’t responsible for Solomon’s nonsense! I was watchin’ Goldie, thank you very much!”

At that moment, the door burst open, and Leviathan stumbled in, his phone clutched in one hand. “I heard there’s a sheep—WHOA, it’s true?! Is this an event? Is this one of those transformation tropes?!”

The sheep—MC—bleated mournfully.

“I told Solomon not to experiment without supervision,” Lucifer muttered, glaring daggers at Mammon. “Now, he’s nowhere to be found, and we’re left with this mess.”

“I dunno, Lucifer,” Mammon said, grinning. “I think it’s kinda cute. Look at ‘em, all fluffy and tiny! Ain’t that right, MC?”

MC responded by headbutting Mammon in the chest.

“OW! What the hell?! I’m tryin’ to be nice!”

Later, in the common room, the brothers gathered to assess the situation. Asmodeus cooed over MC, snapping pictures with his D.D.D.

“They’re absolutely precious!” he said. “You know, I think you’re even cuter as a sheep, MC. But don’t worry, I’ll still love you when you’re back to normal.”

Belphegor yawned from his spot on the couch. “Do we really have to fix this? A sheep is low-maintenance. They can’t even nag us about chores.”

Beelzebub was busy offering MC a piece of lettuce. “Do you want a snack? Oh, wait—can sheep eat chocolate? I’d hate for you to miss out on dessert.”

Lucifer stood near the fireplace, arms crossed. “We’re wasting time. Solomon must reverse this immediately.”

“Bah,” MC bleated, trotting away from Beel’s lettuce.

But Mammon had other ideas. “Y’know what? This whole ‘sheep MC’ thing ain’t so bad! They’ve been cooped up in this house all day, so I’m takin’ ‘em out for a walk. Fresh air’ll do ‘em good!”

Lucifer glared. “Absolutely not. You’ll get the killed.”

“Too late!” Mammon declared, already wrapping a scarf around MC’s wooly neck. “C’mon, MC, let’s go!”

The streets of the Devildom were not prepared for the spectacle that followed.

Mammon strutted confidently through the marketplace with a leash attached to MC, who trotted along reluctantly. Demons turned to stare, some whispering, others laughing outright.

“Yo, Mammon!” a demon vendor called out. “Is that your pet?”

Mammon puffed out his chest. “This ain’t no ordinary sheep! This here’s MC, my—uh—my human! Yeah!”

The sheep glared at Mammon, tugging against the leash.

“Aw, don’t give me that look, MC! You’re havin’ fun, right?”

MC promptly headbutted Mammon’s shin.

“Ow! Hey! Quit doin’ that!”

A familiar voice rang out above the chaos. “Mammon, what the hell are you doing?”

Satan appeared, looking both exasperated and amused. His arms were crossed, and he tapped his foot.

“I’m givin’ MC some fresh air! What’s it look like?!”

“It looks like you’re making a public spectacle of them. MC, are you okay?”

The sheep bleated pitifully, and Satan sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

Before the argument could escalate, a loud CRACKLE of magical energy split the air. Solomon materialized, looking sheepish. “Ah, there you are. I see you found them!”

Mammon rounded on him immediately. “YOU! FIX THIS!”

“I was just about to,” Solomon said, holding up a glowing vial. “But I must say, they make a very charming sheep.”

MC gave Solomon a death glare, as much as a sheep could muster.

“Alright, alright,” Solomon said with a laugh. “Hold still, MC. This will only take a moment.”

He poured the contents of the vial over MC, who shimmered and glowed. When the light faded, MC stood there in human form, arms crossed and glaring at everyone involved.

Mammon grinned nervously. “Hey, uh, welcome back!”

MC raised an eyebrow. “Leash? Scarf? Public walk?”

Mammon gulped. “Y-you’re gonna headbutt me again, aren’t ya?”

“Yep.”

[peppymintdreams]

What app do yall use that resembles texting because I don’t get how

[peppymintdreams]

MC: Hey, you know you’re, like, the epitome of a twink, right?

Luca: …Excuse me?

MC: You heard me. Twink energy. Through and through.

Luca: I don’t even know how to respond to this.

MC: You don’t have to. Just accept it.

Luca: I’m NOT a twink!

MC: sends side-by-side picture of Luca and the dictionary definition of "twink"

Luca: Oh my GOD. Stop it.

MC: You’re adorable. Own it, twink.

Luca: flustered beyond belief I’m blocking you.

MC: You won’t. You love me too much, twink.

Luca: I’m never living this down, am I?

MC: Never

[peppymintdreams]

Hello my children it’s that time

Send in your request, headcanons, incorrect quotes , or personal fanfics and we’ll see

[peppymintdreams]

Sakuverse Daycare: New Year’s Eve Celebration

The daycare buzzed with excitement as the staff prepared for the New Year’s Eve celebration. Colorful streamers hung from the ceiling, paper lanterns swayed gently, and glittering confetti filled the air, making the room sparkle with holiday cheer. The kids’ faces were lit with excitement as they ran around, getting ready for the fun.

Elias was in his element, wearing a bright, flashy party hat and waving a noisemaker around. “It’s the best night of the year! I can feel the confetti in the air!” he declared dramatically, shaking his noisemaker for emphasis.

“Calm down, Elias,” Andrew said with a roll of his eyes, adjusting his own, more subdued party hat. “We don’t want the whole daycare hearing you before the clock even strikes midnight.”

Isaac, who was always prepared, had a stack of snacks ready at the table. He handed a juice box to Luca, who was sitting quietly near the wall, clutching his stuffed bunny, still a little unsure about the loud party.

“Do you think you’ll be okay?” Isaac asked, bending down to Luca’s level.

Luca nodded, looking up at Isaac with a soft smile. “I think so. It’s fun, but it’s kind of… loud.”

Isaac smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Xanthus sat by himself on the couch, glaring at the festivities from the corner of his eye. He had his arms crossed tightly, wearing his usual scowl. His party hat, a plain black cone, sat atop his head with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

"Why am I even here?" Xanthus muttered to himself, watching Elias throw a handful of confetti in the air. "This is dumb. I’m not like them."

But Elias, of course, couldn’t resist. He bounded over to Xanthus with a bright grin. “Come on, Xanthus! You’re supposed to join in! It’s New Year’s Eve! You can’t just sit there looking like the Grinch!”

Xanthus shot him a withering glare. “I’m not interested in your ‘fun’.”

“You might be surprised,” Elias said, wiggling a noisemaker in front of Xanthus’s face. “Come on, just one dance! One song!”

Andrew, who had been watching from afar, sighed and walked over to Xanthus. “You’re part of this group too, you know,” he said gently, offering Xanthus a plate of snacks. “Just because you don’t like noise doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy being with us.”

Xanthus hesitated, glancing at the dancing kids and the laughing faces around him. For a brief moment, his usual stony expression softened. “I don’t… like crowds. Or the noise.”

Isaac, overhearing the conversation, nodded sympathetically as he approached. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Xanthus. But there’s no harm in at least giving it a shot. Maybe just… take a little step. No pressure.”

Xanthus looked around at the other kids, who were having fun and laughing together. It was hard to ignore the feeling that maybe he was missing out.

With a deep sigh, he stood up reluctantly. “Fine. But don’t expect me to dance.”

Elias cheered loudly, “Yes! Xanthus is going to have fun!”

Despite his initial reluctance, Xanthus slowly walked over to the dance floor. At first, he just stood there awkwardly, observing the others, but as the music played, something strange happened. Elias, ever the instigator, danced wildly around him, pulling Xanthus into the rhythm. Slowly, Xanthus’s stiff posture loosened, and even though he refused to admit it, he started tapping his foot in time with the beat.

“You’re getting into it, I see,” Andrew teased with a grin.

“I’m not dancing,” Xanthus grumbled, though his foot had a steady beat to it now.

Luca, who had been watching from the side, beamed at the sight of Xanthus finally joining the fun. Isaac, who had stayed by his side, caught Luca’s eye and gave him a thumbs-up, silently encouraging him to join in as well.

Luca nodded and stood up, slowly moving to the middle of the room where Elias was jumping around excitedly.

“Luca! You’re dancing too!” Elias shouted, pulling Luca into a spinning circle.

Xanthus watched them, feeling oddly amused. He let out a reluctant chuckle as Elias twirled Luca around. He wasn’t fully participating, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that had begun to spread in his chest from just being included.

As the countdown to midnight drew closer, the kids gathered in a circle, eagerly awaiting the big moment. Isaac gave everyone their party poppers, while Elias handed out hats to everyone who had forgotten to wear one. Even Xanthus, who had discarded his hat earlier in frustration, now wore it loosely on his head with a rare, almost imperceptible smile.

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” the kids shouted in unison, throwing confetti into the air.

“Happy New Year!” they all cheered, laughing and hugging each other.

Xanthus stood quietly at the edge, but this time, instead of isolating himself, he was watching his friends with a hint of a smile on his face. He’d reluctantly joined, but for the first time that evening, he didn’t feel out of place.

“See? Not so bad,” Elias said with a wink. “Next year, we’ll make you the party king!”

Xanthus groaned, but even he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.